


A Bolt From the Blue

by fElBiTeR



Series: Flufftember 2020 [3]
Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But Really Only For The Briefest Of Moments Because Yassen Fixes It Right Away, Fluff, Flufftember, Gentleness, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Requited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26287966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fElBiTeR/pseuds/fElBiTeR
Summary: Yassen finds himself going over to Alex's house, standing at the door, unsure of what awaits him on the other side.
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider
Series: Flufftember 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906777
Comments: 5
Kudos: 70
Collections: AR Flufftember 2020





	A Bolt From the Blue

**Author's Note:**

> set in a universe where john and helen are alive, and yassen is sort of the mysterious family friend until alex learns about their entire involvement with MI6, but doesn't really become involved himself

“Why do you need me here?” Yassen asks, staring blankly at Alex, who’s busy fidgeting on his own bed. Alex, who’s actually combed his hair neatly for once. Alex, who’s wearing one of his nicer shirts and trousers, which Yassen _knows_ are his better ones because he was there when they were bought. Alex, who smells of something slightly sweet and fresh, of a pleasant cologne which Yassen was immediately hit with a noseful of when Alex answered the door to his house, shaky smile and weak greeting in tow.

“Well, you see…” Alex tugs nervously at his collar. “I need some help.”

Yassen immediately wonders if he’s going to need to retrieve his favorite sniper rifle from storage. “I doubt you can afford me, but just this once—”

“—Jesus, no!” Alex exclaims in horror. “Not that kind of help, Yassen! Who do you take me for?”

Yassen internally sighs in relief, but tenses again. “What sort of help do you need, then?”

Alex’s face flushes a bright scarlet almost instantly. The clothes, the hair, the grooming, the cologne… Yassen’s chest clenches uncomfortably at the obvious conclusion.

“Your father would be better suited for conversations like these,” Yassen remarks, tonelessly.

“But you know that we’re not exactly speaking right now,” Alex says, “and for good reason.”

Yassen tilts his head inquisitively. He knows that John and Alex aren’t on speaking terms, but he doesn’t know why. The clues, however, begin to line up. “Because of whatever you need help with?”

“Yeah,” Alex replies, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. John has taught Alex to drop any damning tells, but the lessons have never stuck. None of them ever have. It’s fascinating to watch something that even Hunter can’t control.

Yassen stares at the way Alex is almost hunched over, curling into himself in fear, gripping the edge of the bed tightly, knuckles pale from exertion. Everything about him screams anxiousness.

“Do you want me to talk to him for you? Is that it?” Yassen asks. He would prefer not to get in between their father-son spat, but whatever it is has made Alex work up the nerve to ask Yassen for help of some kind. Also, what Alex doesn’t know is that it is nearly impossible for Yassen to say no to him.

And he never needs to know.

Alex shakes his head quickly. “It’s not that. I… I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to confess to someone.” Yassen’s heart plummets to his stomach. It doesn’t show on his face.

“That really isn’t in my department, Alex.” Yassen averts his gaze, taking the chance to scan Alex’s childhood bedroom, neater than an average teenage boy’s but still messy in the way his clothes are strewn all over the laundry hamper in the corner of the room, the way there isn’t an empty chair in sight free for sitting, occupied by school textbooks and journals and scattered snacks and sweets, and the way his closet must be disorganized from the way he takes an eternity and a half to get dressed whenever John invites Yassen out for dinner with them. They nearly never make it to reservations on time, which only serves to fuel John’s frustration. 

Yassen eyes an opened bottle of Jack Daniel’s half shoved under Alex’s bed. 

“Please don’t tell my dad about that,” Alex pleads after he finishes following Yassen’s line of sight, quickly kicking the bottle further in to fully conceal it.

“Tell John about what?” Yassen says, half-amused. Alex visibly relaxes, but only slightly. Most of his body remains tense, poised to attack or run, fight or flight.

If Alex really wants his help…

“Be direct. Be bold, the way you are with everything else. If you have feelings for someone, you should say it to their face. At best, they will return the sentiment. At worst, they will say no, and you can move on,” Yassen explains plainly. Alex is at the age where most teenagers would be dating, experiencing firsts. 

Yassen had hoped Alex would not be like most teenagers. Hope is a dangerous thing, as evident by the moment flashing before him.

“You mean, I should just… go for it?” Alex swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “What if they hate me afterwards? I really don’t want to ruin my relationship with them.”

“Their loss,” Yassen shrugs casually. 

Alex mutters something under his breath, something maybe akin to a prayer, or two, or three and then stands up on his feet, straightening his posture. He inhales once, then exhales.

“I really like you,” Alex says, his voice full of a false bravado.

“I… like you as well,” Yassen responds, slightly confused.

“No!” Alex cries. “I _like_ like you.”

“You…” Yassen trails off, uncharacteristically. He freezes when his mind finally catches up to the real meaning behind Alex’s words.

“What’s that reaction supposed to mean?” Alex’s face is redder than a tomato, redder than the splatter of blood that got on Yassen’s shoes when his target came too close yesterday morning.

“I—” Yassen begins to say. Now he understands why John has been giving him dirty looks recently. “Your father—”

The entirety of Alex’s body droops like a wilted flower. “Oh,” he says.

Words seem to be failing Yassen for the first time in over twenty years. It doesn’t matter. Yassen isn’t really the type for talking anyway.

He decidedly steps forwards and pushes Alex in the direction of the bed. Flustered, Alex raises both his arms to push Yassen back, but the assassin tightly grabs a hold of both of Alex’s wrists, preventing them from moving. He has an unobstructed view of the boy’s face, mouth slightly parted, pupils dilating, the sudden flash of pink when Alex nervously wets his lips.

For a moment, they simply stare at each other, transfixed by the surge of tension. And then Yassen’s grip tightens, and Alex suddenly whines in pain.

Yassen leans in and kisses him, slow and gentle against Alex’s soft, warm lips, beginning to move in reciprocation, clumsy but enthused. Alex’s arms drop pliantly to his sides, and Yassen takes advantage of his own free hands to cup either side of Alex’s head, framing his face momentarily before sliding away from the kiss.

“This is all for me, then? No one else?” Yassen asks softly, rubbing his calloused thumb against the corner of Alex’s swollen lips.

“Mhm,” Alex nods, leaning his cheek into Yassen’s palm with a soft hum.

“Good,” Yassen says, allowing a possessive note to slip into his voice. He presses his forehead against Alex’s, curling his other hand around the nape of Alex’s neck, squeezing delicately. 

“It looks like you’re going to have to talk to my dad after all,” Alex mumbles, nuzzling closer to Yassen. 

Yassen sighs, tucking Alex under his chin and kissing the top of his head. “Over dinner?”

“I won’t be late this time,” Alex promises. 

“ _We_ won’t be late,” Yassen corrects with a small twitch of his lips. 

“Right.” Alex sheepishly looks up at Yassen. 

Yassen brushes his knuckles over Alex’s flamed cheeks, watching the way his eyes follow the movement, a mix between dazed and needy. This visit didn’t turn out so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> three for three!! *wipes sweat* though this one is a quarter of a day late...


End file.
